Miriam then witnessed Rhoda’s true feelings for this family and saw that those emotions were mutual: the Leitner children rushed between the tables to hug Rhoda as she came out of the kitchen, while Andy . . . Andy stood watching his children lavish their affection on Rhoda, with a wistfulness that touched Miriam’s soul. He might be English, but he was sincere—and he was as crazy about Rhoda as she was about him. Ben Hooley had the same devotion and desire written all over his face every time he looked at her.
“Well, now. That has to be the family your girl was helpin’ these past couple weeks,” Naomi remarked as she came to Miriam’s counter to watch the reunion. “Nice lookin’ fella, that dad is. And what do ya make of that? His mamm’s wearin’ a Plain-style outfit, apron and all, except the dress is a perty print like you’d see our Mennonite friends wearin’.”
“Jah, Rhoda drew up the pattern and sewed it for her.”
“Ya don’t say.” Naomi’s expression registered her recognition of the depth of Rhoda’s involvement with the Leitners. “I get the feelin’ Hiram’s not gonna sit still much longer.”
“The bishop’s already gotten his two-cents’-worth in,” Miriam murmured. She ran water on a tea towel, rung it dry, and then spread it over her pie crusts and dough to keep them from drying out. “Ya might as well know, Naomi. Rhoda’s in hot water—already confessed to Preacher Tom—about ridin’ home in Andy’s car because it was too late to call Sheila Dougherty when he got off an emergency shift at the hospital. Hiram’s ordered her to sit up front next preachin’ Sunday, to confess. No doubt he’ll recommend we shun her.”
“Oh no.” Naomi squeezed Miriam’s wrist. “What a shame that you and I understand how ridin’ with Andy was probably the only practical way for Rhoda to get home, while the preachers’ll see that she pays the full penalty for—”
“Seems Ira Hooley and Millie Glick saw Rhoda and Andy kissin’ in his car, too.” There. Miriam could finally spell out what had lain so heavily on her heart. It didn’t right her daughter’s wrong behavior, but she felt better for sharing such a burden with her best friend before it became common gossip.
“Oh, Miriam, I’m so sorry you’ve had to—”
“Don’t be sorry for me, Naomi,” she murmured. “Send up some prayers instead. We’re gonna need them.” She caught a movement in the opposite corner of the crowded dining room. “I’d best get out there. Hiram and I have already clashed about Rhoda’s situation, and the last thing we need is a confrontation in front of our customers.”
Miriam rinsed her floury hands and then stepped out into the busy dining room, where Naomi’s daughter, Hannah, was seating four English folks who had become Saturday breakfast regulars. Rhoda was chatting with the Leitners, her arm slung around Rebecca’s shoulders—probably telling the story of how this triplet had unexpectedly returned to them last summer. Curiosity was compelling Rachel to join her sisters and to take menus to the table for these folks she’d never seen eating here.
Rebecca’s return was yet another thorny situation, when Hiram had tried to call the Lantz family on the carpet for what he perceived as a sin. But here’s our happy ending, for all to see, she reminded herself as her three daughters stood together. Lord Jesus, I’m askin’ Ya to please show us all the right way to love one another as Your children . . . Amish and English alike.
Miriam grabbed a carafe of fresh coffee on her way to speak with Hiram, hoping to distract him before he left his table. When Tom Hostetler, Gabe Glick, and Hiram rose, however, and the three of them put on their black hats, it appeared they had already decided on a unified course of action. She refilled coffee mugs for English folks at the nearest table, watching the men from the corner of her eye as she chatted with her customers. At this point, she’d best leave the situation to God—
But lo and behold, Andy Leitner stood up and stepped toward Hiram, smiling politely and extending his hand. “Good morning, Bishop,” he said. “Looks like we all know the best place to enjoy a fine Saturday breakfast. I’d like you to meet my mother, Betty Leitner, and my children, Taylor and Brett.”
“And these are our preachers, Tom Hostetler and Gabe Glick,” Rhoda chimed in. “This is Andy Leitner, the fella I was workin’ for earlier.”
Rhoda looked like a scared rabbit as the three church leaders approached, but she’d faced the situation straight on, and for that Miriam was grateful. And bless them, Tom and Gabe reached out to shake Andy’s hand, which forced Hiram to do the same.
Was it her imagination, or had the café gotten quieter? Miriam noticed Ira Hooley gazing intently at the Leitners, as though to get a good look at the man Rhoda had ridden off the straight and narrow with. Ben turned to see what was going on, gauging the scene that involved all the folks standing around Andy and his family. When his younger brother rose, Ben clapped Ira on the back and steered him toward the buffet table to keep him from getting Rhoda more flustered. So far, the situation was nice and polite—
“Hey, you fellows have hats and beards just like the three wise guys in the manger scene Rhoda gave us!” Andy’s little boy piped up.
A startled silence filled the dining room, and then chuckles rose from some of the tables.
“Brett, they’re the three wise men,” his sister corrected in a loud whisper. Her face turned bright pink as she looked toward Hiram and the preachers. “You’ve gotta excuse my little brother,” she pleaded. “He’s only seven. But he’s been so wrapped up in that Nativity scene, he’s not played any computer games since Rhoda gave it to us.”
Miriam smiled. Some good was coming from Rhoda’s being with these children, if they were that excited about the birth of Jesus.
“And this man, Preacher Tom, is the fella who carved and painted your Nativity set,” Rhoda spoke up, gesturing toward the youngest of their church leaders. “He’s the one who makes the gut ice cream I was tellin’ ya about, too.”
Brett brightened and hopped down from his chair. He walked around the table to stand before Tom Hostetler, gazing up with a wide-eyed smile. “So . . . you preach sermons at church, and you run a farm with lots of cows to milk, and you carve cool manger scenes, and you know how to make ice cream?”
Tom placed his hands on his knees so he was looking directly at young Brett. “Jah, I do. Workin’ with my hands keeps me out of trouble, ya see.”
“Wowwww,” the boy replied as he met Tom’s gaze. “That is so awesome.”
Miriam got caught between a giggle and a sob. No wonder Rhoda was so taken with these two kids. Who wouldn’t love a girl who faced three strangers to stand up for her well-meaning little brother? And wasn’t the Leitner boy a dear for pointing up Tom Hostetler’s many fine talents? He was small for his age—the same size as Hiram’s twins—but Josh and Joey Knepp were usually too busy raising a ruckus to speak with an adult the way Brett had.
“Thank you,” Tom murmured. He straightened to his full height. “I’m glad you and your sister like that Nativity set. Merry Christmas to ya.”
Brett grinned. “Merry Christmas back atcha, Preacher Tom. You rock!”
Miriam chuckled. Tom seemed flummoxed yet pleased. And when Hiram looked ready to bring the conversation around to a more somber subject, Gabe nodded at the Leitners. “Nice to meet you folks,” he said. “We’ll get ourselves along now, so you can enjoy Miriam’s fine breakfast.”
Hiram flashed the two preachers a look of irritation, and Miriam thought he might linger to reprimand Andy again for leading Rhoda astray. Indeed, Andy stood patiently, watching Hiram’s face. Then his expression lightened. “Nice to meet you fellows, as well,” he said to the other two preachers. “Have a wonderful Christmas with your families. You too, Bishop Knepp.”
Miriam relaxed as Tom, Gabe, and Hiram slipped into their heavy coats at the coatrack and then headed out the door. Conversations started up again in the dining room. After Miriam refilled the mugs for the younger fellows at the center table, she started over to meet the rest of Andy’s family.
The bell
above the door jangled and Tom stepped back inside, smiling sheepishly. “Forgot about this,” he murmured as he slipped some folded bills to Miriam. “No need for change. Have a gut rest of your day, Miriam.”
She flashed him a grateful smile, more for the favor he’d done Rhoda than for paying his tab. “Denki, Tom. Have a fine day yourself.”
As Andy watched the café’s door close behind the three men wearing black overcoats and hats, something propelled him away from his table. Coatless, heart pounding, he stepped out into the blustery morning. One of the preachers was walking slowly toward the road, bent against the wind, while the other two headed toward their separate horse-drawn rigs—but who was who? To his unaccustomed eye they looked identical from behind, and it wasn’t Hiram or the ancient Gabe Glick he wished to speak with. On instinct, he loped to catch up with the man who had parked near the smithy. “Preacher Tom?” he called out.
“Jah?” The man who had so patiently engaged his son turned around.
Andy felt a rush of relief. “Do you have a moment? Can we talk?” Hoping he would listen without lecturing, Andy approached Tom Hostetler, who stood beside an enclosed black buggy that was hitched to a fine-looking horse. “I—I’ve been doing some research, but personal questions demand personal answers. How can I become Amish?”
He’d blurted out his question on the spur of an opportune moment, and he hoped Preacher Tom wouldn’t interpret his tone—his inquiry—as impertinent or even insulting. True, he knew very little about Rhoda Lantz, to be considering such a major life change. But didn’t he know the right details about her personality? The important qualities he wanted in a wife? Wouldn’t it be the intelligent thing to fully understand what he was getting himself into before he lost his heart to Rhoda?
Too late, his heart mocked, even as his mind pursued the truth.
“Well, now. For that, we might want to step inside, out of the wind.” Tom nodded toward the smithy door. “Ben Hooley, the blacksmith, is still eatin’ his breakfast, so we’ve got a few.”
Nodding gratefully, Andy stepped into the farrier’s shop. None of the gaslights in the ceiling were on, but the forge fire had been lit and the shop welcomed them with its warmth. “Thank you so much for your time—”
“I hope your interest in Rhoda, and in our ways, is sincere, Mr. Leitner. But don’t expect me to encourage ya. She and her mamm have already endured their share of trouble after ya drove Rhoda home. And kissed her.” The bearded preacher studied him with an unwavering gaze. “To become Amish, ya must accept the Lord as the one true guide in your life. Ya must focus on servin’ Him first, while severing your connections to worldly concerns and conveniences. Even your family and their needs must take a backseat to your devotion to God. Most English who want to become Amish have gut intentions, yet very few can make the change.”
Andy jammed his hands in his jeans pockets. “When your bishop confronted us the other night, I offered to confess before your congregation, alongside Rhoda. I—I understand now how you would never allow such a confession, but . . . but what if I learn your language, and sell my house to move here, and take up your ways—do my very best to assimilate your faith—and Hiram still won’t allow me to become a member of your church?”
“That’s a chance you’ll have to take.” Preacher Tom seemed to be processing his thoughts, taking his time with his response. Up close, the lines in his face and the silvery spangles in his hair made him look older than Andy had figured him. He seemed a pleasant enough fellow, but not one to suffer fools or bend the rules.
Tom focused intently on him. “We are who we are. You must make the changes in your lifestyle, and take the instruction that leads to baptism into our church. Ya must become like us in thought, word, and deed, because we will not change our ways to accommodate ya.”
Preacher Tom glanced away, as though gathering more verbal discouragement. “Becomin’ Amish is an all-or-nothin’ decision that will affect your children and your mother, as well. For the rest of your lives,” he added firmly. “For one thing, it’ll mean your kids will be educated in a one-room schoolhouse, only through the eighth grade. To a professional man like yourself, that probably seems backward or uncivilized—especially because your two kids are obviously bright.”
Andy let out a long sigh. The preacher’s honesty was taking a toll on his exuberant affection for Rhoda. “And what about my own profession?” he asked quietly. “I completed my nursing degree yesterday. Took out loans to pay for it, and with two kids to raise I have to generate some income pretty quickly.”
Tom Hostetler’s eyes widened at the mention of Andy’s new career, yet he seemed intrigued rather than put off by his traditionally female occupation. “Folks of our faith believe in trustin’ God to provide our ways and means, but that much aside, I don’t know the answer to your question,” the preacher murmured. “Truth be told, we’ve never had an Englischer join our district. We live on farms because we raise the crops to feed our horses and other livestock . . . but beyond that, I can only say that your question about your career will be answered once you’ve satisfied our other requirements. From our standpoint, there’s no need to concern ourselves with how you’ll earn your livelihood until you’re actually one of us, ain’t so?”
Andy sighed, but he could see Tom’s point. He felt encouraged yet overwhelmed by the answers he’d received—and compelled to test a sentiment that Bishop Knepp had rejected. “I hope you’ll believe it was never my intention to compromise Rhoda’s reputation or her faith.”
The preacher’s expression didn’t soften. “No matter what your intention was, she’s bein’ held accountable for her sin, because she fell prey to temptation . . . as we all have at some time or another.” Tom sighed as though he had borne a lot of burdens during his time as a minister in Willow Ridge. “Rhoda’s a strong girl, and I believe she’ll do the right thing. I hope you will, as well, Mr. Leitner. Her entire family has a stake in your behavior, ya see. None of us lives unto ourselves. We’re each a part of the whole, a member of our community and of God’s world.”
Andy nodded ruefully. “You’ve given me a lot to think about,” he murmured. “Thanks again for talking with me.”
The minister opened the smithy door, letting in a shaft of bright sunlight where tiny snowflakes danced like diamonds. “Never forget that when the world pushes ya to your knees, you’re in the perfect position to pray,” he said as he turned toward Andy again. “Works wonders, whenever it seems there’s no easy answer to the predicament you’re in.”
From the doorway, Andy watched Preacher Tom unhitch the reins from the post, step up into his buggy, and then back his horse a few yards so they could head toward the road. It was a simple, everyday maneuver for an Amish person, yet he didn’t have the slightest idea about driving a horse-drawn vehicle . . . one of a million things he would have to learn if he followed through on the idea of becoming Plain.
Had he been a fool to admit this aspiration to Rhoda’s preacher? What if Tom talked her out of any interest she might have in becoming a member of his family . . . becoming his wife?
When the preacher gave him a quick wave, Andy’s heart fluttered with hope. He waved back, certain Hiram Knepp wouldn’t have shared such a gesture. He hurried across the snowy parking lot and back into the Sweet Seasons, gladdened by the smiles on his kids’ faces as they returned from the buffet table with loaded plates.
“Where’d you go, Daddy?” Taylor asked brightly. “We decided to help ourselves—”
And wasn’t that exactly what all of them would have to do, if his crazy scheme to connect with Rhoda was to work out?
“—so I took some of the breakfast casserole. It smells so yummy, with all that bacon and cheese.”
“Lookit what I got, Dad!” Brett piped up behind her. “That fellow over there helped me load up with biscuits and gravy, and these fried apples, and a big ole cinnamon roll!”
His son pointed toward a man who was leaving the buffet table. He didn’t wear
a beard, but his suspenders and collar-length sandy hair announced he was Amish. Andy mouthed a thank-you and pointed toward Brett. He got a thumbs-up in return . . . yet another sign that these folks in Willow Ridge were friendly despite the way they preferred to keep to themselves, sequestered in their faith. And when he saw the way his mom beamed as Rhoda came to the table with her order of fried eggs, sausage patties, and another huge cinnamon roll, he again felt that sense of rightness that settled over him whenever he was in Rhoda’s presence.
She looked up at him, her smile hopeful. “I’m ready for a late breakfast, Andy, if ya don’t mind me joinin’ ya. What would ya like?”
Oh, but his imagination came to life at the playful shine in her eyes. He reminded himself not to say or do anything these Amish folks might hold against her when she confessed, even though most of the fellows who’d been watching them from the center table had left while he was in the smithy. “Surprise me. Whatever you bring will be wonderful-gut . Ain’t so?”
When Rhoda laughed, Andy wondered if she was happy to see him or making fun of his attempt at talking Amish English. Not that it really mattered: when she came from the kitchen a few minutes later with two plates of breakfast casserole, fried apples, and strips of bacon that still sizzled, Andy sighed with contentment. His kids and his mom all seemed happier than they’d been for days. For now, it was enough to watch Rhoda as she sat across the table, between Taylor and Brett . . . everyone eating together, catching up on everyday events since Rhoda’s last day of working for them. Even though they weren’t sitting in their own kitchen, Andy felt so at home.
Thank You for this moment of joy, Lord, he prayed. No matter what happens from here on out, I want to remember this special morning.
Chapter Sixteen
Lord, I wish this dinner was already over.
As Rhoda looked at the many folks seated around their extended table for Sunday dinner, her heart beat painfully fast. The women sat on one side—except for Annie Mae, who was on the men’s side between Joey and Josh, so they would behave—while Preacher Tom and Ben sat on the ends. Little Sara and Timmy Knepp sat in high chairs alongside Nazareth and her sister. Jerusalem Hooley had insisted on following the rules for Hiram’s shunning, so the bishop sat at a small table behind Rhoda. What with the five Hooleys, the Knepps, Tom Hostetler, and Rebecca joining them today, seventeen people filled the Lantz kitchen.
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